


Life After Death

by ZeemonLii



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Identity Revealed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeemonLii/pseuds/ZeemonLii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey all, Peter Parker here. I've gotten myself into a bit of trouble lately. Nothing new I know but, well, this time I kinda, sorta, maybe a little- got myself killed alright! That's right I died. It's not like I meant to or anything. It just happened, you know? And let me tell you, it's not any fun. Actually it's a real pain in the butt… Bad summary I know but please R/R anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Day I Died

**Prologue:** The Day I Died

Hey all, Peter Parker here. I've gotten myself into a bit of trouble lately. Nothing new I know but, well, this time I kinda, sorta, maybe a little- got myself killed alright? That's right I died. It's not like I meant to or anything. It just happened, you know? Okay, so maybe I did have a hand in it, but it wasn't all my fault. Totally accidental. Honest. I mean seriously, what sane person wants to die? And don't you dare start calling me crazy 'cause I'll kick your ass… It's been that kind of week.

You know, it was sunny the day I died. Funny. I always thought it would be raining or at least cloudy or something. I guess that's what you get from watching too many movies. And tv. When in doubt blame it on tv, right? Heh… right…

But really, it could have at least been dark out. You know like 'a dark night, thick as molasses with thunder and lightning. The kind of night that tried men's souls and found them wanting,' the narrator would say in a deep dark voice, but no. It was sunny and warm and perfect with a nice breeze and birds singing sweetly and flowers blooming in bright colors and I think… I think I even saw a butterfly… Yes, I distinctly remember seeing a butterfly when I walked to school that morning. Huh… I never noticed that before… but then death doesn't care People, old and young, rich and poor can die on a nice day. Even a mutant do-gooders like me can die on a nice day. Even Spiderman can die on a nice day.

Oh, I'm Spiderman by the way. Don't think I mentioned that. And lucky me, I died at 16. Doesn't matter if I tell you. I imagine just about everyone knows my secret by now. I mean the media will have a field day, but don't blame them. That's just what they do. Public demands and they supply. That's how the whole shabang works. Believe me. I know. I used to work for the Daily Bugle. Emphasis on 'used to.' I imagine ol' JJ is- actually I don't really want to think about that right now.

... You know, humans are a rather negative species. That's probably why most news is death and crime and so on. I mean we're always focusing on the bad stuff that happens in the world. Okay not always, but seriously, usually its doom and gloom rather than rainbows and puffy, pink unicorns. Okay, scratch the unicorns. I can't believe that just came out of my mouth, but you know what I mean. Nine times out of ten the headline for the day will be something bad, depressing and/or scandalous, but in the end it doesn't really matter. In the end you don't remember the bad. There's just the good. Mutant, non-mutant, I really could care less. The crap just doesn't matter anymore.

Sorry, I'm getting off topic. So yah, I died. Getting impaled will do that to you, kill you, I mean. I'm just glad I don't remember any of it. I mean that would hurt like hell, you know? But well I'm a bit different… and obviously didn't have the good sense to stay dead. But then I always was too stubborn for my own good. Heh, just ask the Green Goblin or Doc Ock. I am proud to say I have been a royal pain in their arses and still plan to be. I just wasn't quite done being alive yet, you know, so I came back… and honestly being dead is a real drag. I mean it! It totally kills your social life. I'm being serious! Okay, not really, but I just wasn't ready for it. Heh... I never did know when it was the right time to call it quits. Call it a gift, and I guess just laying down and dying wasn't my thing either. Too bad huh? Life would be so much easier if the dead would just stay dead, but then no one ever said living was easy. Besides, we have to make life interesting somehow. Zombies always make life fun. Not that I'm a zombie, mind you, or that I actually know of any really. I'm just saying it does seem to be one of the 'in' things right now. That and vampires. Oh, and aliens of course...

It's was nobody's fault really, you know, my death. Just a trick of fate. Truthfully I always thought I would die violently, fighting crime and protecting the innocent. You can call me a pessimist if you like, but I prefer to think of myself as a realist. I know what I do is dangerous. Loose sight of that and… well you end up dead. Guess that doesn't really matter so much anymore. I did die after all. That's not to say my death wasn't violent. I would definitely categorized 'impalement' under violent… and there was so much blood…

You know, about the only thing people do get right about death is it's cold. Like really, REALLY cold. Or maybe that was just the morgue. I can't really say. I didn't have a very conventional death, so I can't really talk about what's 'normal.' Well, whatever it was it was freaking freezing!

... I guess I could say it's also true that dying really does give you a new perspective on life. Ironic, huh? You realized, or at least I did, that there are things- no, people I would miss. So much so it hurts. Really, truly it does. One person in particular- but lets not go into that. I'm still trying to figure out how to tell her…

Oh boy, I'm rambling now. I don't know why, but for some reason this really matters to me. Like what if these really were my last words? Anyway, it will be interesting to see how things shake out, after the whole 'I'm dead thing,' I mean. I don't really know what's going to happen myself, you know, now that they know. Now that the secret identity isn't so secret anymore. Just ask the internet. You know... I never meant to lie to anyone. Aunt May or even Jameson, although he'll probably take it that way and worse. I just didn't want people to get hurt because of me. I never wanted anyone to get hurt because of me- I DON'T!... I don't… but then… there are always casualties...

Jeez, I'm depressing myself now. Time to change the subject, alright? Actually I'm getting kinda tired of talking. No… Now that I think of it, I'm just tired. Dying will do that to you, you know? Well no, you probably don't. At least I hope you don't but, yah, I'm tired...

Dying… it does change you. Yes, it does… So yah… here's how it all went down...

**TBC…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing the next chapter for this fic today, I realized I had only posted this fic on FF.net. I thought that was gross neglect on my part and immediately put it up here too. Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Notes from original on FF.com posted 6/3/2012:
> 
> Hey all. Here's a new idea that popped into my head and I thought I'd put it up here. This is the only chapter in this fic (except for maybe the epilogue) that will be in 'stream of consciousness' format. All the other chapters will be in a normal narrative format. That being said I don't know exactly when I'll get the next chapter up. Think of this as just a teaser for now. I know this prologue is pretty ragged around the edges, but as I said before, it is supposed to be a 'stream of consciousness' piece.


	2. The Fall that Ended it All

**Chapter 1:** The Fall that Ended it All

“No. NO! I don’t want to go with them.”

The girl flinched back against Peter’s chest, shivering. He had no clue why she was so set against going with the police, but that did not matter. He just wanted to help her, to stop her from jumping off the edge whatever it took.

“Then you don’t have to,” he said softly, gently resting his hands on her shoulder, trying to comfort the nearly frantic girl.

Her gaze jerked to him at his touch and she stared, but didn’t seem to see him at all. Her eyes were wide and dilated till they were almost all-black. It wasn’t normal. The boy wondered what was wrong with her. What could have caused her to act so crazy?

“Miss-“ The cop began, but she recoiled at the sound, crying out shrilly as it he has struck her.

“No,” she moaned, he hands bunching into fists in her hair as she shook her head. “No, no, no.”

“Shhh. It’s okay,” Peter said with genuine concern, rubbing her shoulders. “Let’s just get down off this roof –oof.“

He tried to gently steer her away from the edge, but she jerked back, harder this time. A little explosion of breath escaped Peter as, off balance and propelled by her weight, his body fell into the wall of the roof access behind him. His head cracked back against the brick hard, his vision flashing white as pain exploded within his senses and then... then there was nothing.

“I don’t want to go,” the girl sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t make me go with them. Please don’t-”

The warm presence behind her suddenly disappeared. Shocked, she turned just in time to see his legs fall over the edge of the roof and out of sight.

“NO!” she screamed, collapsing to her knees, her arms reaching as if to grab the body that was already gone. “Oh god no.” Tears dripped from her eyes, clouding her vision as she stared over the edge, but still she could see. There was blood. So much blood. He wasn’t moving. There was... there was something through his chest. “Oh god. Oh god. I didn’t mean to. How-“

Strong arms closed around her, pulling her back. “I got you. I got you, girl,” said the police officer. The girl’s body heaved with sobs as he held her to his chest, pulling her farther from the edge of the building, but even so he could not resist a quick look over the edge.

“Shit.” What a mess.

**/\/\/\/\/\**

First it was just a suicidal person.

Nothing new for a New York newspaper. New York State has over 1,000 suicides a year. (That’s almost 3 people a day for those that care.) And nearly half of those deaths are attributed to New York City alone. What’s more that person was still alive. Everyone in the news business knew a suicide wasn’t worth a blurb until the person was dead, or at least was very injured and bloodied if still breathing. Then He had shown up in that stupid red and blue costume and it became a story. Then, unbelievable, He pitched over the side of the building and instead of swinging away like normal, died.

It became a field day.

Every news organization worth its salt was down at the scene in minutes and the Bugle was no different. It was a bloody mess. The body was still impaled on the wrought iron fence it had fallen on; perfect for pictures. The girl, the suicidal one, was out of her mind with shock, but the police had gotten her down and safely off to a hospital not that it mattered. She wasn’t the story anymore. The death of Spiderman was. Graphic stuff and great for the front page... if only he had a photographer.

Jameson blinked, a voice pulling him out of his thoughts.

“JJ if I could just-“

The editor of the Bugle took a deep drag on his cigar, letting the smoke flow out between his lips as he spoke. “For the millionth time Brant, no. I need you here.”

“But-“ the woman started to say, but he cut her off with a swipe of his hand.

“What was wrong with the woman, anyway?” JJ said, gruffly changing the subject. “Was she a nut job? Or just another depressed jumper?

The brunet reporter leaned forward, her elbows on his desk, moving as if to share a secret. “Rumor is bad meds.”

The old news dog raised an eyebrow, tapping the tip of his cigar over an ashtray. “Reliable source?”

Betty Brant grinned . “Of course.”

Jameson sat back in his chair and made an expansive gesture, his hand trailing smoke in the air. “See that’s why I need you here,” he said smugly.

“Oh come on,” the woman said, slapping the desk with her palm in frustration and turning away, her arms defensively crossing over her chest.

“Brant,” the man said, his sudden seriousness catching her attention. “It’s gory.”

“Oh bullshit,” the young reporter huffed, getting irritated now. “You haven’t given me a proper story in weeks Jameson. I didn’t sign on to be your secretary.”

“You’re not a crime writer either,” JJ said pointedly, taking another long drag on his cigar.

She tipped her chin up defiantly. “I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it.” The man chuckled softly – an unusual thing for him, but he was in a rather good mood this day – and stubbed out his cigar.

Brant frowned ever so slightly, her gaze darting down to the ruined cigar in the ashtray then back up at her boss. “You know those things are going to kill you.”

The editor gave her a long, searching look, his hands clasped with his elbows resting on the desk, before sighed and waving her off with a hand. “Fine. Go.”

The woman blinked, surprised. “What?”

“I’m done with you,” Jameson said, sitting back in his chair with a weary look on his face. “If you want to go then go.”

The reporter blinked, then burst into a smile. “Thank you. Oh thank you. You won’t regret it.”

The man sighed, rubbing his brow. “I already do.”

“Uh-huh,” she grinned and was out the door.

Jameson followed her out of his office and leaned against his doorway as he yelled after her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She just giggled, giddy with a new assignment as she gathering the tools of the trade off her desk. The death of Spider-man. It was sad, but a good story. Maybe even an award-winner if she did if right. The paper already had the crime beat down covering the scene. That would leave her to do the in-depth stuff. Great.

JJ shook his head, a small smile spreading over his lips as his gaze shifted from Brant to look out over the newsroom. It was a chaotic mess. Phones were ringing off the hooks, police radios were jabbering barely intelligible nonsense here and there around the room, miss-matched TV’s flashed with bright colors in a corner – all tuned to every newsfeed imaginable, and people rushed around here and there or were madly typing on their computers like there was no tomorrow. Just as it should be.

“Where’s that Parker kid?” Jameson suddenly barked at everyone in earshot, which happened to be everyone in the office. “I still need pictures for tomorrow’s addition.”

Robbie heard the words and rolled his eyes from where he sat at his desk – one of the closest to Jameson’s office, as befitted a managing editor. “JJ it’s only noon,” he said, taking a sip from his coffee. “We’re running early... for once,” he added under his breath.

“So?” the man snapped in his characteristically brusque way. “I need pictures. Brant take a camera with you,” Jameson shouted to her as she was running out the door.

Betty just held up the camera in her hand and rushed on without a backward glance.

Jamison gave a curt nod of approval to her receding back. “We need more like her here,” he said then abruptly turned back to his most recent gripe. “What kind of place does that punk think this is? Newspapers don’t run themselves you know. You gotta have-“

“JJ ranting about it won’t help,” Robbie said agreeably, used to the other man’s moods. “I’m sure Peter has something for you, but he’s still in school. He’ll be here as soon-“

“No, he’s not.”

Both Jameson and Robbie started and turned towards the voice. Robbie was the first to recover from the interruption. “Urich?” His brow furrowed as he studied the senior reporters drawn face. “What’s wrong?! You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“What do you mean ‘he’s not’?” Jameson snapped, not picking up on the man’s haunted disposition.

“Parker.” The reporter answered as if in a daze. “He’s not in school and he’s not coming.”

“He fucking better come,” Jameson snarled, his famous temper flaring. “I’ll fire his ass sooner-”

“I’ll show you.”

Urich turned around and walked towards the far end of the newsroom. It wasn’t like the veteran reporter so the two editors just looked at each other, shrugged and followed.

Jameson saw instantly they were moving towards the line of tvs and, oddly enough, a large crowd was starting to gather around them. Gasped and hushed whispers were flowing through the crowd by the time they got close enough to hear anything.

“What’s everyone standing around for?” Jameson growled. “Turn those damn tv’s off-“

Robbie’s coffee mug crashed to the ground as Jameson’s eyes followed to where Urich was now pointing. It was he Spider-man scene, like all the others, but now...

“Oh god.” Robbie whispered behind him, his hand covering his mouth in shock.

Jameson couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“JJ,” the black man said gently, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Pictures!” the chief editor suddenly barked, whirling from the tv’s. “I need pictures. Send somebody. Send anybody.”

“Jonah!” Robbie cried out in reproach, but Jameson got his to office before the man could say anything more and slammed the door behind him.

He came out a second later, pulling on his coat. “Get on it Robbie,” he snapped, as cold as the other man had ever seen him. “You’re taking charge for the rest of the day so get to it. The News doesn’t write itself, you know.”

“Where are you going?” Robbie said in a hushed tone, stepping closer to his friend so they could speak more privately. Not that it mattered. By that time everyone else was staring in horror at the tv’s across the room.

“To try and figure out what the fuck is going on,” JJ growled through his teeth, purposefully not looking at the tv’s and their dismal message, but instead glancing up to catch Robbies eyes. “I’ll call you later if I get a good scoop.”

Jameson’s eyes said much more than that, but Robbie let it go. Still JJ paused as he moved towards the door. “Robbie did you know?” he asked quietly, his voice sounding so tired.

The black man sighed. “No… I had a hunch once, but it didn’t seem possible so I let it go.”

A strange smiled tweaked the side of the other man’s mouth. “Always trust your gut.”

“Yah…” Robbie sighed again, rubbing his eyes. “JJ he’s a good kid. He’s one of ours,” he said in almost a pleading tone

“Yah…” JJ said almost too softly to hear. “He was.”

With that Jameson swept past him and towards the stairs, but just as he reached them a horrible thought made Robbie whirl back towards his friend. “Wait! Brant’s already on the story.”

Jameson’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Yah. She just left. So?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh… Dammit,” he swore under his breath, looking up at Robbie. “She was close to the boy, wasn’t she?

The black man nodded, still having a hard time believing all this was real. “She doesn’t know,” he said in an overly-calm voice.

“Call her!” Jameson yelled, starting down the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Someone call her now! Oh hell never mind. I’ll fucking call her myself,” he said, pulling out his cell phone and quickly dialing the young reporters number. The phone rang once and was picked up.

“Jameson if you think you can call me off-“

“Brant listen for a bloody second,” the old newshound said not unkindly. “Some yahoo pulled off the mask. Before you ask, yah, His mask. CNN got a good shot of his face. It’s Parker, Brant. Peter Parker.”

Silence answered him.

Jameson paused on the stair. “Betty,” he said quietly to the silence on the other end. “Nobody would blame you for coming back. Let someone-“

“No.” Her voice was thick with emotion. He heard her swallow hard then continue on. “No. I can do it.”

The man sighed, giving in. “Alright. Just get the story and get out. I’ll send someone else to take the photos.”

“Jameson-“ She started to say, but he cut her off.

“I said I’ll get someone else to take the stupid photos!” he yelled, his emotions getting the better of him.

Silence.

“Brant?” Jameson said cautiously, kicking himself for yelling at the girl.

“Okay,” she answered in a small voice and that was all there was to say.

**/\/\/\/\/\**

Jameson stared at the body, for that was all it was anymore. Not Spider-man. Not Peter. Not Parker. Not even ‘the boy.’ Just the body. Distancing himself from such things was a trick JJ had taught himself as a war correspondent in Vietnam. He had seen a lot of death then, nearly daily. It had been his only choice really; to see only bodies and not the people they had once been. It was that or drown in the despair of so many dead.

Blood covered the body’s right ear and the side of his face. It was obvious he had hit his head somehow and probably been knocked out. That was the only thing that made sense. That had to be why he had fallen and not just swung away so cavalierly like he always did. That fall... Jameson shivered and not just because of the cold of the morgue. It had been a shock to anyone watching.

The medics had cut the fence to get the body down and taken off the mask so they could try to revive him, but it had already been too late. Just from where Jameson stood the editor could see the bloody hole in the chest were the right lung should have been. There was so much blood...

“Do you know him sir?”

Jameson started and glanced up at the portly man in a lab coat standing across the gurney from him. For a second he had forgotten why he was there. The only way he had gotten access to the morgue was by saying he might be able to ID the body.

JJ took a deep breath, his shoulders hunching as if against the cold as his eyes were drawn back to the bloody scene before him. “It’s Peter Parker,” he breathed.

The man nodded clinically, writing down the name on a clipboard. “And what’s your connection to the deceased-“

“I was his employer.”

“Oh? Really?” The lab coat glanced down at the body and sighed. “It’s always sad when one so young shows up here.”

“Yah.” Jameson breathed.

“Do you know how old he was?”

He didn’t and it hurt. Jameson managed to suppress the flinch, but the mortician must have seen something in his eyes because he added. “It’s just for our records.” As if that would make everything alright.

Jameson was silent.

“Sir?”

“No I don’t know,” he snapped, more angry with himself then with the little man. “Here,” he flicked a card to the mortician. “Call my office. I’m sure we have it somewhere.”

“The Daily Bugle.” The man’s eyes widened as he read the name of the card.

“Don’t worry,” Jameson said, spreading his arms so the man could see they were empty. “No camera, see? I’m an editor. Not a reporter.” He felt very old as he said the words, and it wasn’t just the cold of the morgue. He sighed, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his many years. What was the world coming to when boys died and old men lived on? he thought, depression getting the better of him. Maybe I should have listened more often. Maybe if I could have just- What drove a boy like Peter to do this? To become... this? Jameson stared at the still, dead body with hollow eyes then sighed and turned away.

“Where’s his family?” he said quietly, looking around at the cold, empty room. Outside there were crowds of mourners but in here... there was no one.

“We don’t know,” the mortician said plainly, as cold as his morgue.

“Call,” Jameson said, waving vaguely at the card he had passed to the man as he walked out. “We’ll give you all the information we can.”

“Thank you Mr...” the man said, leaving the question hanging in the air.

“Jameson,” he said, filling the blank as he brushed through the double doors into the more normal temperatures outside... and nearly ran straight into a red-headed girl.

“Sorry,” she whispered hoarsely and he noticed her eyes were red from crying as she dodged past him into the morgue.

“Miss?”

Jameson looked back curious as the mortician tried to intercept the teen, but she fell on the body sobbing before he could do so.

“God no,” she moaned, and JJ turned and hurried out before he could see anymore, unable to cope with the overwhelming grief in the girl’s shining eyes.

Jameson wondered who she was as he walked from the morgue and into the light of day once more. A good reporter would have gotten her name, but he just couldn’t intrude on her grief. Not right now. It wouldn’t have been right. She could have been family, he mused, but she looked nothing like Parker. Was she a friend? Maybe even a girlfriend?

The man sighed, shaking his head as he let the thoughts go. It didn’t matter right now. He didn’t know and speculating was useless. There was one thing he did know for certain now though. Peter... Peter Parker had been Spider-Man... and now he was dead.

Peter Parker was dead.

**/\/\/\/\/\**

The old woman in the hospital bed was nearly as pale as her dead nephew.... but unlike him she still breathed.

“Next of kin?” Jameson said hollowly, staring at May Parker’s still form, her body strewn with tubes and wires connecting her to the machines that were now all that was keeping her alive. His sources had led him here to the hospital after the morgue and he had dreaded what he would find. He had been right to do so.

“No one we can find,” the nurse said gently, if guardedly.

“How was she found?” JJ said automatically, his reporter instincts getting the better of him.

The nurse must have sense how shaken he was because she answered despite her weariness of reporters and their ilk. “Neighbor called the ambulance. They were knitting together when she collapsed. The lady said they were just watching the news then suddenly she got very pale and short of breath and just collapsed. Heart attack.”

JJ stared at the sick woman. Peter’s only kin as far as he knew. He remembered the spirited roasting ‘Aunt May’ had given him once over the phone when Peter was first hired.* He had never had the chance to meet the woman in person until now... and she was like this. Damn.

Jameson hated feeling so helpless. Peter was dead. And... And he should have seen it. He should have, but now it was too late. There was little he could do except...

The old newshound stared at the woman in the bed for a moment longer before fishing another business card out of his jacket. “Send me her bill,” he said passing the card to the nurse and he moved to the door.

Confusion wrinkled the nurse’s brow as she stared at the card, startled. “Sir?”

“You heard me,” he said gruffly and walked out, but just as the door swung shut, the nurse thought she heard him say; “It’s the least I can do.” Then J. Jonah Jameson was gone.

 

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This little tidbit came from the Ultimate Spiderman comics. While I know Peter is mostly a web-person in those comics, I still stuck with the more traditional photographer connection with the Bugle because it is more common and I rather like it. So, to summarize this fic is inspired mostly by the Ultimate comics (where Urick can be found) and also by the Spiderman movies (where my version of Betty is found even though she does also appear in the Ultimate comics). One commonality is, at least in the beginning, all of these versions of Spidy have him in high school, which is where he is in this fic as well.
> 
> Dear Readers,  
> For a long time I didn’t know how to start this fic. Or rather there were so many ways I could have started it that I had no clue how to consolidate all my thoughts into a coherent chapter. I knew I wanted to do this first chapter as a reaction piece, but whose reaction should I choose? Or should I do many? I had written bits and pieces of outline for a lot of people: Peters teachers/school mates, friends such as the X-men, Fantastic Four, or even Fury and SHIELD/The Avengers... Overwriting has always been an issue of mine and so, even though I had some really great stuff there, I finally decided to go on with one track: JJ and the Bugle... I hope it worked out well enough and that it was an enjoyable read for you. Even if it wasn’t I would beg you to go ahead and try reading the next chapter as well for that is when things are going to get really interesting with ‘the resurrection’ and everything... Sorry if I’m rambling on, but this has been on my mind for a long time and I’m quiet happy to finally get this new chapter up for you. As always I love reviews and really hope to hear from you. 
> 
> Oh, and for those of you that are worried, THIS IS NOT A TRUE CHARACTER DEATH FIC. You'll see what I mean the farther we get into the fic. Thanks – Zee
> 
> P.S. Dear readers, I find myself compelled to mention here that none of my fics have been forgotten. They are simply simmering on the backburner, waiting for inspiration to shine upon me once again... and I’m sure it will eventually. I find myself incapable of posting any chapters I do not like myself (which is part of the reason ‘Alien and it’s Boy’ has been on such a long hiatus. Peter keeps writing out too damn whiny for my tastes.) I’m sorry for all those fans who are waiting for updates. You may think I am being too damned picky, but then that is what makes for great fics, so I hope you will forgive me. For now, I am working on my ‘lighter fics’ such as ‘Catching the Cub’ and this one because they, for some reason or another, are not as difficult as the more adult ones of mine. Anyway, thank you for all the support - Zee
> 
> P.P.S: If anyone is curious where I got the suicide statistics (I must admit was a simple search and not very extensively researched), here are the sites I used (just delete the spaces in between):  
> www . suicide . org / suicide – statistics . html  
> www . huffingtonpost . com / 2012 / 12 / 20 / new-york-city-suicide-rate-murder-rate-2012_n_2338994 . html


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